


Unstoppable vs Immovable

by Gayrob0t



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2019-10-29 11:53:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17807519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayrob0t/pseuds/Gayrob0t
Summary: I just want to write for these two sometimes because I love them. Short little sweet things





	1. Sleeby

Hardhead wasn't even sure what had pulled him from recharge and his battle protocols already had him reaching under the berth for his stashed weapon. Perhaps it was the protocols themselves that had woken him, forever primed and active. Maybe there was something poetic and sad about what that said about him, about his function, his history, the history of his entire race and their inherent nature? But Hardhead didn't muse on poetic drivel, waste of valuable time that got you killed such as it was. He just leveled his weapon at the now closing door of his habsuite to buy enough time for his processor to decide whether he needed to use it.

“It’s just me, Hardhead. Nothing here to extinguish, maim or otherwise threaten your spark.”

Hardhead huffed as his frame flopped back down against the berth. Blurr. Of course it was Blurr. No Decepticon in their right mind would sneak aboard the enemy ship just to break into the hab of some low level grunt soldier. Not even the stupidest of the Sweeps would waste the effort. Hardhead stowed his gun back in its holster and shifted slightly to cycle some air through vents blocked while in recharge. The large turret mount kibble and cannon on his back limited ways he could comfortably lay without blocking something. All through his shifting and wordless grumbling, Blurr rambled at him in the dark.

“While I appreciate these moments of peace, though not complete enough that we would like with consideration that those who would show us harm still roam and plot another day, the absence of noise and lack of company that comes with these hours unhindered by-”

“Yes, okay.” Hardhead mumbled, soothed battle protocols receding and his tired processor unwilling to stay awake just to hear Blurr say he couldn't sleep in as many words as possible. Hardhead wasn't sure why he bothered to explain at all. 

He hadn't even finished heaving his heavy frame onto his side before the speedster was wedged up against his front, pushing a knee between the tank's until he could tangle their legs to his satisfaction. Hardhead settled against him with an exasperated sigh, but he'd become more and more acclimated to the arrangement. Perhaps some part of him even looked forward to it. Having Blurr as a crutch let him easily recharge on his side, freeing up more vents. Blurr even had continuous cycling, taking in and expelling air simultaneously for constant cooling and making him comfortably warm without becoming stifling.

And maybe it was just nice to have another mech around, Hardhead's half absent processor suggested. He grunted, dismissing the thought so he could rest his arm over the other mech without having to dwell on it. Blurr's engine purred under his servo and he wriggled and fidgetted until he'd pressed his face into Hardhead's neck cables. Doing everything he could to mold his frame against him.

Hardhead didn't dwell on that either. Instead he surrendered to the lullaby of a happily humming speedster.


	2. A Rock

Hardhead liked most of the planets they visited. As much as he could like being far from home waiting to be shot at or captured by aliens. And that was a best case scenario. Hardhead at least had a solid grasp on what to do if someone started a fight, but there wasn't much you could do when your friends got sucked into interdimensional time dilated portals to an alternate universe where everyone spoke backward or whatever other unlikely nonsense that was the new normal.

But when all went well and unfortunate happenstance didn't rear its head, Hardhead liked the alien planets well enough. This current one might have even been picturesque. The silicate based flora made some impressive crystalline structures that could serve as adequate cover. Granted it also reduced visibility and left far too many ambush points for his complete comfort. Not all of it looked like it would last beyond the first few volleys in a proper shootout, so maybe it would be decent to test it with some target practice.

Hardhead couldn't bring himself to actually scout out and set up a makeshift range, though. Maybe it was because he was technically on an assignment right now, or rather was. They were here for a reason. Something to do with potential black market smuggling of quintesson weaponry. Hardhead wasn't wrapped up in specifics, mostly because after the initial scouting of their landing site came up safe and unremarkable, the landing crew had dispersed and gotten distracted. They were supposed to be 'investigating’ but Hardhead was almost certain Ultra Magnus was the only one focused on the task at hand. Perceptor was probably investigating all these crystals, Hot Rod was investigating the most trouble he could wedge himself into the middle of, and Blurr was investigating a good place to race through.

Of course, speak of the unmaker. The sound of distant engines was the only warning before Blurr was there at Hardhead's side in a cloud of dust. Which meant his nice quiet stroll through the alien countryside was about to gain commentary.

“I'm just checking in on everyone, Hardhead. Everyone is doing fine but Perceptor wanted to ask if we could all bring back any unusual samples of the wildlife.” Hardhead didn't stop walking, paying only moderate attention as he debated giving his alt a drive to stretch the treads.

“Unusual as in anything that stands out from all this stuff that already stands out. So I'm not sure what exactly he wants but it may just be anything unique, bizarre, or otherwise extraordinary. I haven't finished looking around but I wanted to come let you know and also give you this.”

Hardhead flinched to catch the small crystal that was abruptly dropped in his servos. It was undoubtedly from this planet. Some mildly translucent business in blue and purple. Its edges were jagged and broken, revealing that the purple spots were red filaments running in crooked rivers all throughout. If he held it up to the light and tilted it just right, Hardhead could actually distinguish where the colors mixed. This was probably the kind of thing Perceptor was looking for.

“It didn't look like any of the other crystals I found it with. It's super durable, maybe invincible! A lot stronger than all the other rocks around it, they all crumbled really easy but I can't even put a crack, scratch or chip on this one.” Blurr was starting to gesticulate wildly, obviously excited. This sounded more like _exactly the kind of thing Perceptor was looking for_. Which only made it more confusing that Hardhead was holding it.

“It’s also very pleasing to look at, with a lot of dimension. Soon as I saw it I knew I liked it. Reminded me a lot of you. I gotta go find Hot Rod to let him know about Perceptor, but I'll see you later!”

And then Blurr was gone, taking off in a new cloud of smoke before the last had even settled, leaving Hardhead to his puzzled silence. A lot of his interactions with Blurr felt like they had to be translated between several programs before Hardhead really understood them, but this just felt ridiculous.

At first thought: Blurr, a courier, was giving Hardhead, a soldier, a delivery job of this invincible crystal to Perceptor. It didn't make much sense, and Blurr wasn't stupid, so now Hardhead was left translating the whole point of being handed this rock.

Blurr gave it to him. Because he was who Blurr wanted to have it. Nevertheless, Hardhead tucked the crystal in his subspace and started back to the landing site to give it to someone who could figure out why it couldn't be broken, even though it obviously had been broken before. Maybe it had something to do with that quintesson weaponry thing they were here for. Definitely worth looking into.

Hardhead was halfway back to their ship when his processor finally supplied him with a translation and stopped him in his tracks. Blurr had given him a gift. Because he saw something he liked and it reminded him of Hardhead. It reminded him 'a lot’ of Hardhead.

The invincible rock somehow felt like a little vulnerable spot in his subspace. Maybe Perceptor would let him have it back after whatever tests he wanted to do.


	3. Sleep pt. 2

Hardhead's dreams were becoming strange lately. It used to be simple recharge purges of close calls during the heat of battle. Replaying intense split second decisions where he very well could have died just to make sense of it all while his systems were recharging and weren't at risk of overclocking. They weren't pleasant, but they were at least predictable. There was comfort in that at least. Hardhead was a creature of habit. Of routine.

Which made these new dreams fall on the side of distinctly uncomfortable. They were about a foreign warmth spreading throughout his frame. Something gentle grazing against his transformation seams and shyly probing just inside. The faint ghost of something against his face, his throat, his lips. Light enough that even in a dream it felt imagined. What couldn't be imagined was how his cooling fans would quietly click on and the warmth would slip away from him little by little until he woke feeling alone and oddly bereft.

It took Hardhead a moment to remember Blurr had even come to him sometime in the nightcycle. The quick autobot was long gone, his space beside Hardhead cold and empty by the time he was awake enough to recognize it. That left an odd feeling too.

Not being the biggest fan of unrecognizable feelings with ill defined origin, Hardhead put it out of mind and let it kick around lower level processing where he wouldn't have to think about it. He had a work shift soon.

There were several normal cycles where he didn't have to think about it. Life continued in its normal predictable sort of chaos kind of way. Hardhead weathered all the bizarre sidetracking and ridiculous escapades with his expected stoicism. All the while the strange dreams and feelings were quietly mulled over without notice, gaining tags and markers to be stowed away, presumably forever.

Except they surfaced again. Another night cycle, like many others, found Hardhead stowing his weapon away while Blurr went on and on about war and peace and how that affected his recharge. Talking so fast he could have been so very efficient if he didn't insist on cramming so much verbiage into one place.

Hardhead silenced him with a beconning wave and in the usual shuffling of getting comfortable his sluggish processor pushed up memories that it had helpfully marked as part of these occasional berth sharing exercises. That foreign warmth that was uncomfortable for its presence but also vaguely distressing in its absence. Dreams of something (someone?) maybe touching him at his most vulnerable and his battle protocols refusing to stirr past their idle rest. The cold of the empty space at his side in the morning and how it left its own chill on his spark.

What a nuisance. Just when Hardhead was getting used to having Blurr invade his quarters for whatever cuddling he felt he was entitled to he was starting to leave weird and unclear emotions in his wake.

“Hardhead?” The tank's visor wouldn't light past a dim glow, leaving Blurr a dark outline against shadows with bright optics staring straight into his face. “You have that look about you, despite your dour expression under even the best of conditions, it is clear when you are displeased or distressed and at this moment I can see that perhaps I am not as welco-”

Hardhead groaned to make the talking stop. Always forever talking. He curled around the speedster, wrapping arms tight around him so he'd just go to his usual spot with nose in his neck cables and chestplates pressed close enough that he could feel the steady comfort of a sparkpulse against his own.

“M'fine.” He rumbled to keep Blurr quiet. They should talk about this. Whatever this was. But in the morning. With full processing power and hopefully that cold ache nowhere to be found. “Just been having weird defrags.”

Blurr went alarmingly still in his arms. Hardhead didn't know he could even do that. Maybe his dreams were the reason Blurr always left? He hadn't ever said anything in them had he? Had he ever tried to do something? Maybe he shouldn't hold so tight, or he'd feel trapped and awkward and wouldn't come back. As much as Hardhead disliked being woken in the dead of the nightcycle, the idea of Blurr never squeezing himself into his berth again left a hollow feeling in the pit of his tanks.

Hardhead forced the air out of his vents in a huff, force closing the entire processing stack before it could run into overflow and become a problem he'd spend his whole recharge sorting out, compounding his defrag woes.

“It’s just dreams,” he mumbled, feeling Blurr relax a little against him. “They’ll pass.”

The speedster didn't react for a moment, but eventually he did squirm into his favorite spot, legs wrapped together and helm under chin. His engine picked up its purr again and Hardhead thought things were settled, but then he felt Blurr’s lips move against his throat.

“Are they bad?”

Short. Concise. Three simple little words. Had Hardhead been more than barely awake he would have marveled that Blurr could cut down a question so far to its root. Instead he let out a questioning hum. Because he was a _fool._

“Do your dreams hurt or otherwise impair your ability to gain a full night's-”

“No.” Hardhead surprisingly didn't have to think about it. His processor had added all sorts of tags and markers to the dreams and while they were uncomfortable in their sudden onset and melancholy with their ending, there was no denying that they had been accepted by all protocols as nice. Charming. Pleasant even.

Some part of Hardhead knew that he would be having the strange dream again. It felt like a certainty with Blurr here. But he found he didn't mind so much anymore and he let his processor slip into recharge.


	4. Pew Pew Pew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ╮(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)╭

_ Hardhead? _

_ Hardhead! _

Everything was dark. Not the idle darkness of disrupted optical feed, but rather an all encompassing darkness where not even reports or pings returned back from systems that could have been completely deactivated for all he knew. 

Hardhead would have thought he was dead if it weren’t for someone yelling for him, muffled by a loud ringing with no discernable source. He tried to piece together any memories, wrestle a timeline from his uncooperative processor and remember where he was. What happened?

_ Can you hear me? Hey Hardhead are you alive? _

He knew that voice, even beneath the persistent tinnitus, Hardhead would know Blurr’s voice anywhere. Why was he here? Where- ?

_ Oh- ohareyoudeadHardhead?IthinkI’mfreakingouthe’sdeadhe’sdeadwhatdoIdohe’s _ -

Just as the speedster’s panic was getting into full swing, Hardhead’s processor finally kicked his internal storage back into action, triggering a disorienting memory purge. Recon mission. In and out, no problem. Decepticons. Cut off. Taking shelter to lay low; somewhere strategic, quiet. Make a plan. A gorgeous smear of blue in his peripheral vision. Being discovered. Skirmish after skirmish. Lifting his head above cover to scout for a better vantage point and the sudden bright light and deafening boom-

Oh

He’d been shot. 

Right in the head. 

That explained some things. His optics flickered and visual feed returned, treating him to the unfocused view of vague shapes and dull colors. The sky was a rusty brown with faint shadows that only barely resembled his makeshift cover. The largest shape loomed over him though, a vibrant blue against such washed out details. But he’d long since learned how to distinguish his favorite racer using only his most obscured outline in full spark stopping motion. 

_ You'reawake- -dhead!Canyouhe- -ehardheadyou- _

The ringing in his head was starting to subside, but Blurr’s voice was fading with it. Hardhead wasn't sure he would have been able to pick out individual words with how fast he was talking anyway, but his HUD flicked back online to helpfully inform him that one of his audials was damaged beyond use, and the other was only functioning at 37% efficiency.

Another purge hit, knocking his scattered thoughts to the wind and all he could remember was waiting in his shelter, taking his time. Forcing himself not to watch the blue and white mech showcase his namesake as he danced between enemy fire, drawing it away. Blurr could outrun any of them. It wouldn’t even be hard, but he’d stayed close to Hardhead’s position. Never wandering so far that he couldn't turn and flash the tank a victorious grin. One he’d seen so many times at the end of so many races on so many vidscreens that seeing it thrown personally his way sent a prickle of something foreign but not unpleasant through Hardhead’s spark.

Right now, though, Blurr looked like he was dissolving into hysterics. With his optics regaining the ability to focus, Hardhead could see the way his vents flared and his turbines, already steaming from the strain of battle, were starting to turn red in their effort to dump heat. Everything was going to be fine. He was called Hardhead for a reason, his processor just got a little rattled is all. Lucky shot might have disrupted core processes. It wasn’t fatal.

_ You’re going to short out if you don’t calm down. _

Hardhead meant to say it out loud, but when his mouth opened all he got was an error message in his HUD and a feeble burst of static.

[Voxcoder not found.]

Hardhead dismissed the useless alert and ran a full diagnostic on all systems. Blurr hadn’t slowed down in the slightest, the near incomprehensible glyphs acting as an anchor against his memory banks threatening another purge.

_ We’llgety- -owwha- -do.They’rego- -ixyourightu- -rdheaditwo- -talljustholdonIvegotyou- _

He did, Hardhead realized. One servo was clenched tight around his, and the other was alternating indecisively between hovering over his face and lowering to leave reassuring strokes anywhere else. He wasn't sure which one of them Blurr was trying to reassure, but it was nice all the same. It was always frustrating to see him like this. All worked up and tense and blabbering without end over no big deal. Everything was going to be just fine.  He gave his servo a comforting squeeze.

Only for his HUD to explode in a scrolling list of all unresponsive systems. His processor couldn’t find any of his motor relays, struts, compressors, actuators, axle, stabilizers, weapon systems- and more than he could take in as the list raced across his feed before another memory purge dragged him under.

_ If you leave now, you might be able to get some help. _

Blurr’s optics flickered with surprise and he examined the tankformer critically. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately; Examining Hardhead and leaving that not unpleasant feeling deep in the recesses of Hardhead's spark. He tried not to dwell on it as his processor returned to cataloguing their remaining supplies.

_ I’m not leaving you here alone. _

Ducked close in a new shelter, it felt like he was purposefully leaning in. Close enough that Hardhead could feel the heat wafting off his plating. If Hardhead made the slightest shift, they could even touch. 

But he didn’t close the gap, instead letting Blurr do it himself in uncharacteristically slow increments until he was resting his helm against his shoulder. Hardhead wasn’t about to stop him, but if he didn’t leave soon there was a good chance they would both die here. They couldn't be extracted from where they were, but moving from cover to cover was already slow enough with all the roving sweeps and decepticon patrols. It was a bit of a crapshoot how long their extraction point would even still be viable. Hardhead already knew his life was expendable. Limited in possibilities and purpose. Dying on a battlefield was perhaps his greatest use; operating as intended.

But Blurr? The thought of quick, clever, babbling,  _ beautiful Blurr _ going still to never race or speak or smile like that again twisted Hardhead’s spark into something unruly. Something that gave that not unpleasant feeling teeth. Something there wasn’t time to deal with. He couldn’t have his spark going soft  _ and _ skirmish with Decepticons at the same time. 

_ It’s not a problem. I’ll cover your exit and defend this point until you come back. _

Simple. Easy. Hardhead could hold his own. It would be-

_ No. I’m staying here with you. _

Blurr’s voice was soft in his audial. As if they were sharing a secret in a crowded room. Did he have to be so close? Venting right against his neck and sending the smallest fluttering of air down his chassis? Hardhead chanced a look and any tactical argument died in the face of those blue optics staring at him so intently. It was startling in its ability to disarm. And Hardhead placed that unknown feeling.

Want. A gentle but earnest desire to close the gap between them and reassure in a way more physical than any rescue plan could.

Hardhead held tight to his conviction not to lean in. Not right now. Even though it made that twisting in his spark tighten further into a painful ache.

Blurr’s optics dimmed, his smile small and soft. Hardhead couldn’t look at him anymore. He returned to taking stock of their supplies until Blurr’s voice prickled against his throat again. 

_ When we get out of here, will you- _

Hardhead's memory abruptly glitched into a long stuttering screech before a warning flashed urgently across it all and everything mercifully crashed.

Awareness came back in stages, his processor taking advantage of the hard reset to prioritize necessary functions. He felt his engine cough and rumble to life, only just realizing that it had even failed. Perhaps everything wasn’t so fine. His vents fluttered before they opened and all his cooling systems roared in an effort to shed heat that had started to accumulate under his plating without notice. Every strut and servo on his frame twitched as it returned the pings his processor sent out, reconnecting, realigning and confirming everything was indeed right where it should be. 

Only once all his vitals had been accounted for did Hardhead's senses return to him. Visual feed came with a much kinder damage report that confirmed one audial was indeed completely trashed and the other had been disabled for self repair, his voxcoder was still MIA, and a few struts in his back had been damaged when he fell. It also brought Blurr’s face into sharp focus.

Hardhead wished he wouldn’t lean so close. Especially not when he was looking at him like that. Open and miserable, perhaps even a little afraid. He soon relaxed into relief upon seeing his visor relight and his optics focus.  The babbling picked back up, a bit slower now, but Hardhead couldn’t hear any of it. He could only stare at lips that moved too quickly to read and feel the tight grip around his digits and the sheer warmth of the speedster’s overheated plating against his side.

Did he really have to be so close? Warm and anxious and beautiful and forever talking? 

Hardhead felt his free servo twitch, clenching against his gun, forgotten but still held tight. With a shake, he freed himself from it and let it fall on the ground. He was supposed to be fighting right now. His practicality told him that he should use his regained motor control to get back up and into the fray. But Hardhead  _ wanted _ . 

His _ spark _ wanted.

Perhaps now was an even worse time than before, but Hardhead wasn’t about to put it off again for another later that could never come. So when he reach up to pull Blurr down to brush his lips against shocked still ones, he couldn’t even pretend that it was a difficult decision at all.

“I’m alright,” he murmured, processor having found his voxcoder and restored his audial to acceptable functionality. He didn't let go of Blurr though, allowing a moment to pass to reassure him. Only a moment. It worked, kind of, because after that moment those lips were peppering his face with quick fleeting kisses between his ever running commentary that had slowed down enough to be deciphered.

“Youscaredme!” A brush against one cheek. “Isawyougodownand-” the other cheek, “-youweren’tgettingup.” The corner of his lip.  “Theyhityourightinthehead” Two quick ones against his visor and brow. “IwasworriedIdidntknow-”

With a groan Hardhead’s lips caught the mouth seeking to press another kiss to his cheek. He took his time with this one. Savoring the feel, the taste,  _ the silence _ . The way Blurr fell so easily into a gentle rhythm with him like they weren’t on complete opposite ends of the speed spectrum. Like meeting Hardhead in the middle was the easiest thing.

When they separated at last, Hardhead sat up. Not wanting to give Blurr a chance to start talking again. Everything was going to be fine. 

There was less doubt about it now with one audial finally restored to 84% functionality and all other systems responding efficiently.

And that pleasant ache of want settled deep into his spark where it didn't hurt at all.

**Author's Note:**

> More is possible but who knows


End file.
